A Study in Leaving
by inkandpaperqwerty
Summary: Reid thought Hotch getting involved in the Milwaukee case would be enough to make him stay, but he overhears a conversation that makes him think twice. "The glitches in the transfers and resignations stop now." If Hotch wants to leave, Reid can't stop him, but he can ask him a question that's been gnawing on his mind for more than a decade. Post 3:2


His leg wouldn't stop bouncing. He had tried more than once to get it to stay still, but the moment he let himself think about what he was waiting for, it started back up with a vengeance. It caused the chair to squeak slightly, the faint noise almost deafening in the otherwise silent bullpen.

 _I have to ask. It's just a question. It's a valid question. What's the worst that could happen?_

Immediately, his brain supplied him with a slew of statistics and probabilities explaining exactly how bad the outcome could be. Still, when he performed a cost-benefit analysis between the repercussions of asking and the mental anguish of not knowing, he chose the former.

 _Unless I ask, and I still don't get an answer. That would be awful._ He swallowed. _No, that's not very likely. Hotch has a strong sense of honesty, and he wouldn't just—_

He was given no more time to think. The light in the ex-chief's office had gone out, and that meant the man inside was leaving. There was one chance to ask, and he had to take it or leave it, right then and there.

"Uh, H-Hotch!" Reid stood up, accidently bumping into his desk in the process. "Ow!"

Hotch looked at him, but he was still walking towards the exit. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I'm good." Reid rushed through his reply and left his desk behind, wringing his hands as he approached the fast retreating Hotch. "I, uh, I know you have to go, I just—I have a question, and I thought maybe—"

"I'm sorry, Reid. I really have to go. If I ever said I was in the doghouse before, it pales in comparison to this." Hotch was walking backwards, maintaining eye contact to show sincerity but moving away nonetheless.

"But I won't get another chance," the doctor rushed, following him. "You're leaving, and it just—it'll just take a second."

Hotch slowed to a stop, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly. Something in Reid's voice must have given away his desperation, and despite all attempts to remain objective, the youngest agent felt he had no choice but to beg.

"Please, Hotch. Just… just one question."

Hotch frowned—not obviously, only faintly, in that way he often did, where it looked more like a twitch or a trick of the light than anything—and extended a hand in silent permission for Reid to take the stage.

"I…" Reid swallowed, a lump in his throat and a crushing tightness in his chest. "I…" He didn't want to ask. He was embarrassed by his unrelenting need to know, and he was terrified to find where his search for knowledge led him.

"Hotch… I…" Statistics. Facts. They made him feel secure and confident. If he started there, maybe he could get it out. "We don't officially consider an unsub to be a serial killer until he has at least three victims. Three establishes a, a, a pattern of sorts, and that—"

"Reid." Hotch didn't seem angry, but his voice and expression made it clear he didn't have time for the genius' usual ramblings. "What is it?"

"I just… need to know…" Reid dropped his gaze to the floor. "I need to know… if it's me."

Hotch squinted and tilted his head a centimeter or so to the left. "I don't understand."

"I just... patterns of three." Reid tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs only received a tiny gasp before refusing to take in any more oxygen. "My… my dad left… and then Gideon left… and now you're leaving…" His eyes were burning, and he started blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. "Three bodies mean a serial killer, so I thought maybe… three people leaving means…" He didn't know how to word it. He had read an entire dictionary before. Twice. His eidetic memory should have provided him with a broad collection of terms he could use, but he was coming up utterly blank.

"I'm the common denominator, and I just… wanted to know if it's me."

Hotch stared at him, eyes slightly widened but the rest of his face unreadable. He looked like he was in shock, his mouth opening slightly and then closing again as he blinked, confusion drawing lines across his face.

"I—I thought about it after Gideon left, but there wasn't enough evidence to support the idea. It was only two people, that—that can be coincidental." His hands started to move, as they often did when he had a lot to say, his words increasing in speed. "But I was thinking about it again recently, and I think the reason I get so angry when people leave is because my brain is formulating—"

"Reid."

"—a self-defense mechanism to cope with the loss. The first time someone walked out of my life, I was just a kid, and my brain couldn't handle the idea that it might be my fault, so it put all the blame on my father to make me angry. And I think if I stop being angry, I'll realize it actually is my fault, and—"

"Reid." Hotch's voice was harder, more insistent.

"—if it is my fault, then it could have had negative effects on my neurological development when I was younger, and now that I'm older, it runs the risk of creating a chemical imbalance in my brain, which could impact—"

Two hands closed around Reid's shoulders, the grip firm but not painful, and Hotch gave him a small shake. "Reid!"

Reid finally stopped speaking, biting down on the right-hand side of his lower lip. _It's worth it. It's worth it if you get an answer. No matter what happens, the repercussions will be worth it._ The lead weight in his gut might have disagreed, but he was determined to protect his mantra. _It's worth it._

"Reid…" Hotch paused, took the deep breath Reid wished he could manage, and dropped his arms to his sides. "Do you think I drive people away?"

Reid blinked. "What?"

"Do you think I drive people away?" Hotch repeated himself in such a simple tone, as if his inquiry of choice was the most logical progression of their conversation.

"No, I—what? No." Reid shook his head, blinked some more, and then shook it again. He didn't understand how Hotch could _possibly_ get an accusation out of Reid's self-condemning ramble. "No. I—I mean, you're kind of strict, but you take care of this team, and you love your family, and you're always there for people. I—what?"

"You really don't think so? You're not just saying that?"

"No, I'm not." Reid shook his head a third time. "I don't think so at all."

"Really?" Hotch arched a brow. "Because my brother left, and now we hardly see each other. Gideon left me, too, you know. I knew him longer than you did, but you got the letter, and I didn't. And now Haley…" He paused to compose himself, breaking eye contact for a fraction of a second. "Haley might be leaving me, too. If three is a pattern, and I'm the common denominator…" He trailed off, looking at Reid expectantly.

Again, Reid shook his head. "No. No way. Hotch, that's just coincidence."

Hotch didn't waver. "And it isn't when it happens to you?"

"It's different, Hotch. It's not—it's not different relationships, it's all—"

Reid stopped.

He was going to say those leaving him were all the same, but he had never really told Hotch what he thought of the older profiler. If Reid gave himself the benefit of the doubt, he hadn't had the chance to, but that wasn't really relevant at the particular moment he found himself stranded in.

"It's all…?" Hotch leaned forward slightly, almost as if granting Reid silent permission to whisper the words if it helped.

"It's all…" Reid had managed to maintain some semblance of eye contact while spouting off a litany of what he considered to be facts, but as his lips started to move again, he found himself staring at the carpet. "It's all the same. My dad. Gideon. You."

 _Please don't make me spell it out. Please._

Hotch was silent for a moment, and Reid felt his face warm another degree for every second that passed without spoken words.

"Reid, I'm honored you would think of me that way, but—"

"I know," Reid blurted, still staring at his feet. "You're my boss. It's not professional."

"No." Hotch chuckled softly, and there was a warmth to his tone when he spoke again. "I was going to say that if you view me in the same light as your father and Gideon, but I didn't know, what would I be running from?"

Reid fascinated himself with his laces, his subconscious brain noting the desperate need for new ones. Maybe he could go to the store in the morning and get some. Maybe he could stop for ice cream, too. Ice cream always made him feel better, and there were multiple places in the mall where he could buy some. Ice cream, that is. Shoelaces, too.

"Reid, what am I running from? Your father ran from responsibility. Gideon ran from his demons. Your father ran toward selfish ambition. Gideon ran toward a brighter future, without dead bodies and psychopaths to haunt him. What am I running from? What am I running to?"

Reid shrugged his shoulders, and he desperately wished he was sitting down so he could bounce his leg again. He kept on looking at the carpet—he had never noticed what an ugly shade it was—his tongue flashing over his lips in a futile attempt to remove the dryness.

"I don't know," he finally mumbled. "I keep messing up and letting you down. I let Hankel take me. I got hooked on Dilaudid, and I lied about it. I needed you to teach me how to shoot, and I still failed my test. I told my mother about our cases, and it got Elle shot and put everyone in danger. I mean, what _wouldn't_ you be running from?"

Hotch shook his head, and there was a pain in his eyes Reid had never seen before. Different from his rage-filled agony when Caleb Sheppard shot a fourteen-year-old boy in front of his mother. Different from the explosive anger he used to cover his grief when Evan Abby went up in flames along with the unsub they had been hunting.

No, it wasn't that. There was no anger. There was no attempt at control. He just looked hurt; the kind of pain one could only feel for another person.

"Reid." Brow still creased with sympathy, a fond, if nearly invisible, smile pulled at his lips. "What about shooting Dowd and saving those hostages in the hospital? What about _The Empty Planet_ , a book only you read? What about Nathan Harris? You saved not only his life but the life of potential victims he may have had if he hadn't received help. Your facts and statistics, your expansive knowledge of culture and history and literature. Reid, you are a valuable member of this team. You always have been."

Reid looked down, his face heating up once again, this time due to the flattery he was hesitant to believe.

"Hey."

Hotch's hand appeared in his line of sight, and then his chin was being pulled up gently. Reid could hardly look his superior in the eyes, but it was still a manageable feat, however difficult. He swallowed, sniffed, and watched as Hotch's face returned to its typical, no-nonsense expression.

"Spencer Reid, you are not, nor have you ever been, a failure."

Reid choked back a sob, his chest constricting as the words hit his ears and he realized how _badly_ he had needed to hear them.

"Then why does everyone leave?" Reid pulled himself from Hotch's grip and wiped his face with his hands, trying to remove the evidence of tears. "If it's not me, why can't people just stay?"

Hotch heaved a sigh and shook his head. "I wish I could tell you. I think the only ones who can answer those questions are the people who do the leaving, and I don't think you'll ever be satisfied with their reasons." He gestured to himself with a bitter sort of laugh. "I'm leaving because I want to spend more time with my son, and if I stay, Haley… won't. But that doesn't help you, does it?"

Reid shook his head and almost asked another question, but the mention of Jack and Haley had brought with it the startling realization that he had kept Hotch much later than he initially intended to.

"Oh! Haley!" Reid waved his hands in the general direction of the doors. "Sorry, you've got to go."

Hotch gave a single nod. "I do. If it were any other night, I would stay and talk."

"No, it's okay. It's alright." Reid stuck his hand out quickly. Despite his distaste for handshakes, he wasn't about to let Hotch walk away without some kind of proper goodbye.

However, Hotch bypassed the hand altogether, hooking one arm around Reid's neck and pulling him in for a brief but genuine hug. "Have a good night, Spencer."

Reid nodded jerkily. "Uh—uh-huh. You, too."

Hotch turned to leave but stopped, shaking his head with an amused smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. "And Reid?"

"Yeah?"

"I have a phone. Two, actually. You can call or text me any time."

Then Hotch turned around and continued his earlier trek toward the elevators, throwing a quick wave over his shoulder before he disappeared through the glass doors around the corner. Reid waved back, feeling stupid because he knew Hotch couldn't see, but also feeling no desire to drop his hand.

 _I'm not a failure._ Because the human mind had a way of tricking itself into believing things, but if Hotch said it, it had to be true. _I can call him any time._ He had no idea why he hadn't thought of that. Maybe because it sounded so unprofessional? But it wasn't as if either of them intended to get rid of their phone numbers. _I'm honored you would think of me that way._ Honored. Not obligated or burdened or even satisfied. Honored.

As in, flattered, privileged, grateful, thrilled, fortunate.

Hotch was _honored._

But Hotch was leaving.

Reid shuffled back to his desk and sat down, staring at his lap and wondering why his leg was finally still.

 _Anxiety and the subsequent adrenaline has been replaced by confusion and the consequential sensation of pausing or buffering._

Reid sat for a moment more, and then he grabbed his bag and got to his feet, leaving the darkened room behind. He hit the button to summon the elevator and waited, trying not to think about the coming days and the change they would bring.

 _Hotch is doing the right thing. He has a family. He has to leave so Haley doesn't leave him._

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Rewind.

 _"Now Haley… Haley might be leaving, too."_

 _"If I stay, then Haley… won't."_

Both statements couldn't be true. Either Hotch was leaving and Haley was staying, or Hotch was staying and Haley was leaving.

 _Okay, think. Go back over the conversation. Profile._

 _"Reid, you are a valuable member of this team."_

He said 'this' team, not 'the' team. It could speak to a present involvement in the team—this was more indicative of the speaker being a part of the object in question—but that was hardly definitive.

 _"Reid, I'm honored you would think of me that way."_

Would? Reid _would_ think of him that way, but now he wouldn't, because Hotch was leaving him behind? No, that wasn't right. Using 'would' instead of 'could' spoke to the man's confidence and sense of self-worth, but putting 'would' instead of nothing at all could merely have been a preference in speech patterns.

 _"What would I be running from?"_

There was that 'would' again.

 _"What am I running from, and what am I running to?"_

No, the present and future tenses cancelled each other out.

 _"I think the only ones who can answer those questions are the people who do the leaving, and I don't think you'll ever be satisfied with their reasons."_

Sure, Hotch had gone on to list the reasons he was—supposedly—leaving, but one of those reasons was contradicted by an earlier statement, and he had initially placed people who leave in a separate group.

 _Okay. Okay, think, body language. He had… did he have anything? He probably had a go bag. He gave me a hug with one arm, so yes, definitely a go bag. No boxes? Nothing from his office? He was packing up earlier, so I know he had stuff ready to go. Come to think of it, why was he in his office, anyway? He wasn't officially on this case, so he wouldn't have had to write a report._

Heart pounding, Reid turned on his heel and left the elevator behind. He ran back the way he had come, throwing the glass doors out of his way and sprinting down the length of the bullpen. He breached the small staircase with two massive steps and threw the door to Hotch's office wide open. He swung around the doorframe, flicked the light switch, and—

Reid smiled.

Books were back on the shelves. Pictures were back on the desk. Empty boxes were stacked by the wall. None of Hotch's things were gone.

Hotch had returned to the BAU to unpack his things. He wasn't leaving.

Hotch wasn't leaving, and Reid just couldn't help himself. He jumped up and threw his fists in the air, shouting an enthusiastic, 'Yes!' for absolutely no one to hear. He bounced in a circle, grinning from ear to ear and laughing to himself. Childish, perhaps, but after the hours he had spent wrestling with anxiety and grief, he deserved a little solo celebration.

Reid turned the light back off and shut the door, striding back out to the elevator with a spring in his step. He hit the down button again and waited, still smiling, rocking on his heels as he waited for his ride.

He couldn't wait to come into work the next day.

He wondered what the team would do. He wondered what Hotch would say.

He wondered if Hotch knew Reid had figured him out.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Reid stepped on to the elevator and pressed the button to take him to the ground floor. He scrolled through his contacts until he found Hotch's name, and then he opened a blank text.

 _To: Hotch_

 _If she leaves, it's not your fault._

Reid drummed his fingers on his thigh, his joy slightly dampened by the thought of Hotch going home to an empty house. He walked, silently calculating how many minutes it took Hotch to drive home while obeying all traffic laws. Then he factored in the amount of time it typically took Hotch to respond to a text, and Reid concluded he would likely have a message waiting on his phone by the time he got back to his apartment.

So, he drove. He focused on that, using various methods of analyzation to distract himself with traffic and street signs. His leg ignored his attempts, though, once again bouncing as his earlier nervousness returned for a completely new reason.

Reid got to his apartment, went inside, brushed his teeth, changed into his pajamas, and crawled into bed with a book. Every action was muted by a thick haze of elation and gut-wrenching uncertainty.

Still nothing from Hotch.

 _Good. Hopefully, he can't answer because he's talking to Haley._

Or fighting with Haley. But honestly, given the alternative, Reid would have considered that to be good news as well. Better to be fighting than avoiding, right?

Seconds later, the phone buzzed, and Reid mentally kicked himself. _I jinxed it._

He looked at the screen, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he realized the implications.

 _From: Hotch_

 _It's not yours, either._

Hotch certainly knew him well; knew he would blame himself for encouraging Hotch to stay with the BAU. Even in the midst of a crisis—the midst of an event that would leave him damaged for years to come—Hotch's concern was for the welfare of others.

Reid put the phone back down and plugged in the charger, setting his untouched novel on the nightstand and turning his lamp to a lower setting. He buried himself in the sheets and stared at the wall, his foot shaking to make up for his leg's immobility.

 _It's alright. We're going to be there for him._

Reid narrowed his eyes slightly, determination increasing.

 _I'm going to be there for him._

Because if Hotch wasn't going to leave Reid, there was no way Reid was going to leave Hotch. No matter what happened, no matter where they went, no matter what they did, he would be there for his friend.

Because Hotch had broken the pattern. Hotch had decided to stay. No one had ever done that. Not after they made up their mind to leave. No one ever _came back_ once they were gone.

But Hotch did.

Hotch did, and as long as Reid lived, he was never going to forget it.


End file.
